Nobody said it was easy
by Kodiak Bear Country
Summary: Sheppard and McKay are trapped in a cave Sheppard reflects on how he got to where he is on his birthday.


Title: Nobody said it was easy  
Author: Kodiak bear  
Category: Gen  
Rating: T, some language  
Summary: Sheppard and McKay are trapped in a cave; Sheppard reflects on how he got to where he is on his birthday.  
AN: Some military terms: OTS – Officer Training School; the fighter planes about the time of Sheppard's childhood were most commonly the F4 phantoms. OTS is at Maxwell AFB, and test pilot school is at Edwards AFB, just north and a little east of Los Angeles. US forces are not allowed alcohol in Afghanistan but coalition forces are so, you know, these guys are pretty smart. Thanks to my betas sholio, tazmy and linzi, you guys are the best! And last, but not least, Happy Birthday Joe Flanigan!

**Nobody said it was easy…**

Turning 40 was supposed to be a defining moment. One of those milestones where you sit around and think, _Holy shit, I'm getting old_…and maybe go out and buy a corvette.

Of course, sitting in a collapsed cave, in darkness so deep you feel like your eyes have been hollowed out, makes it a little hard to focus on the big picture. You start thinking things like, _nice to have known ya,_ and how there's got to be some kind of irony in dying on the same day you were born.

"_Colonel! I am at the 'gate now..."_

Sheppard shifted his back against the cold, damp rock and reached for Rodney's leg. "Hear that, McKay, the cavalry will be here any minute now. So…you just…hang on…okay?"

He couldn't reply to Teyla and say, "Great." When the cave-in happened, his radio took a hit…along with his head. He could receive, but couldn't transmit.

She kept up a litany of updates anyway.

That's how he knew Ronon was pulling rocks off the pile that stood between his and Rodney's rescue, and that Teyla had jogged back to the 'gate to get help. She didn't say that Ronon wasn't going to get to them for a long time, or that it'd be hours till she even made it to the DHD.

Damn.

Forty-years old and all he had to show for it was a headache the size of Manhattan, and a buddy lying stretched out near him, unconscious, condition mostly unknown. Sheppard was kind of foggy on the timeline. How long they'd been here, when did it happen, those kinds of important details.

He remembered waking up that morning and thinking, _Wow, I survived another year_. He remembered leaving for the mission. But his memory after feeling the chill of the wormhole was pretty dang leaky – he sometimes startled awake and realized he'd been drifting somewhere."

He couldn't remember a time when McKay had been awake with him, so, that was a bad thing, right?

Anyway, back to the not-so looming mid-life crisis. What's a corvette when you've got a bay full of _spaceships_.

At least he was going to be spared that rite of passage. Funny how living this side of the universe kept the finer things in life in perspective.

"_Colonel – Teyla tells me you've had a wee spot of trouble."_

Sheppard chuckled. "Bit of an understatement there, Doc…" He ended on a cough, and a wheeze, and then remembered they couldn't hear him.

"_We're going to be there soon, I promise. John, you and Rodney, you just need to hang on for a little while longer, okay."_

He recognized Elizabeth's voice with an unpleasant jerk. What the hell was she doing, coming through the 'gate for a rescue mission? It was an unnecessary risk, and she knew it. And he'd be the first one to tell her…when he got out of here.

Until then…he'd be here…hanging on.

Sheppard was hanging just fine. He felt pretty damn hung _over_. "Where was the party?" he asked. "'Cause I think I missed the fun and jumped to the morning after."

Why was he talking to himself?

"Hey, buddy…you can wake up now…" Sheppard leaned sideways and felt for Rodney's leg. He should probably check things like pulse and breathing – when did he do it last?

That was important, right?

ABC's or XYZ's.

_Okay, John, focus_…on what?

Sleeping…yeah, that was good idea. Sheppard's head pounded and his stomach felt like someone had dropped a ball of lead in there. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a second, he'd remember what he needed to…

OoO

"John! Supper, baby, come on inside!"

John turned away from the sky, dropping the hand he'd used to shield his eyes from the glaring, setting sun. "Mom, just a few more minutes, please?"

The pilots were doing touch-and-go's, and their house was so close to the flight line, John could almost reach up and touch the fighters' bellies as they blew overhead; the hot backwash shimmering the air behind, the roar of the engines blocking everything out in those moments of flight-induced awe.

He loved the smell of the flight line. Oil, metal and heated rubber. Every time Dad took him to see the planes up close, he ran his hands over the wings and imagined what it felt like, being up there.

She frowned, her hands on her hips. "Honestly, John. You see them every day. Now, supper's getting cold – let's go, young man."

He considered how much trouble he'd get by pleading, but figured it wasn't worth it. Still, as he followed, dejectedly, John spared another look over his shoulder as another F-4 roared past.

_Some day_, he vowed. _Some day that's gonna be me, and no one's gonna make me stop._

OoO

"Sheppard! Would you just wake up, already?"

Sheppard jerked, flailing his arms towards the person he sensed and felt, but couldn't see. "What the hell --"

He heard McKay pull away, sensed his hands rising in an 'it's okay, don't punch me' gesture.

"That's what I'd like to know," Rodney retorted.

He coughed, and dropped next to Sheppard, causing a breeze that chilled the sweat on Sheppard's face.

"I'm awake…" Sheppard tried to straighten his thoughts and piece the fragments back together. Cave-in…that's what was wrong; that's why it was so dark. And he'd gotten hit in the head, which is why the ache soaked all the way to the tips of his teeth and made him want to puke. But something was different…McKay! "You're awake?"

"Generally, it's a requirement for talking," Rodney returned.

"You were…" Sheppard's mind was about as sluggish as a…well, slug. "Are you hurt?"

A painful snort filled his right ear.

Sheppard rolled his head towards Rodney, frustrated. "Just…tell me."

"Fine…for the record, I was trying to be stoic." Sheppard heard McKay shift on the floor next to him, grunt, and move some more. "I'm nauseous, I think…no, I know, I broke my ankle…and…I'm seeing double."

"Rodney, it's pitch black. You can't see anything."

"Oh. Well, in that case…I'm seeing double of nothing."

"And this is stoic?"

"I said I was trying!"

Right.

A stone was poking Sheppard in the hip, and he shifted to brush it away. Moving made his headache pound. How long had he been lying down, anyway? His legs felt like pins and needles, and the cold had seeped through his clothes.

"Sheppard."

"What?"

"Is there a reason we're just sitting here, and not doing something productive – like trying to get out of here?"

Sheppard had to think about that.

"I think Teyla's bringing Carson, and a rescue team."

"Oh." Rodney shifted lower on the floor. "That's good. Really good."

"McKay? You okay?"

No answer.

Happy fucking birthday.

OoO

"Hi Dad."

John's mom looked up from her pot of spaghetti sauce and smiled carefully. She knew what was coming; he'd talked to her a week ago. John had needed more time to get the courage to tell Dad.

"John, just in time for dinner." She put the spoon on the dish by the stove, wiped her hands on her apron, and enveloped him in a hug that made warmth spread to his toes.

"Hi Mom," he whispered in her hair.

"You're back from the interview already?" Dad stared over his glasses, making John feel three feet tall and eight years old again.

Mom pulled away and gave him an encouraging look.

Yeah. Twenty-two years old, and John was still intimidated by the old man. He put on his best easy-going smile, and turned to face his father, sitting at the dining room table, newspaper open to the stock pages. "How's retirement going?" Why not start easy…

Dad's eyes grew wary. "It's fine. Your interview, son…you didn't answer my question."

John wiped a sweaty hand down his pants. The suit was one he wore to Church, but he only went when he came home on vacation anymore. It wasn't like he was going to need it much now. "I, uh…I didn't go, Dad."

The paper came down. "What do you mean you didn't go? Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get you that interview?"

"I didn't ask you to --"

Dad's eyes got cold and hard, and all John could think was, here we go again.

"Look, Dad – I know you didn't want me to. I know you've got your reasons, but this is _my_ life. I've got to live it how I need to."

"Tell me you didn't join…" When John didn't speak, his Dad's hands clenched the edges of the newspaper so hard it crumpled. "Tell me you didn't, John!"

"I can't, Dad."

Dad grew colder than Antarctica. "Get out." He stood and pointed angrily at the door. "Get out and don't come back, do you hear me? I paid for you to get a degree, not to go live some childhood fantasy that will get you killed. You want to throw your life away, fine, but you're not going to do it with my approval."

John stared at his Dad; his anger wanted him to shout back, to go over all the reasons why he needed to do this, but what was the point? They'd had the same argument at least a hundred times since he'd graduated high school and gotten accepted at Harvard.

He couldn't count on his hands how many times he'd heard, "Why would you want to spend all that time and effort on a degree just to waste it flying airplanes? Do something big with your life, John, do something that _matters_."

John had always intended to get his bachelor's degree and then get commissioned with the Air Force. He had a dream of flying, and he wasn't letting anything stand in his way. As he shifted his look to his mom, saw the hurt in her face, he wished like hell it could be different.

"I just need to get a few things," he said flatly. "And then I'll be gone." Because it couldn't be different. Not with his dad. He angled for the stairs, taking them two at a time, and headed for his room. John had known it was going to be like this – it's why he'd put it off.

Still, there'd been a part of him that'd hoped --

Downstairs, he heard mom start in on dad – just like she'd done at least a hundred times, also.

"George, you know John's got flying in his blood. Don't do this – talk to him."

"It's wrong for him, Evelyn. He's not military material, and he's going to get killed out there – is that what you want? You want to hear the knock on the door at 3 AM and get handed a god-damned flag that's been draped over his coffin?" John heard his dad slam something on the table. "That boy's soft, and he's smart enough to make it well in the civilian world, but the military? He'll either get himself shot or thrown in Leavenworth for following his damn heart. It's a mistake, and someday he's going to learn it the hard way."

John swallowed, and turned back towards his dresser. The duffel bag was in his closet, and he grabbed it with an abrupt yank. He reported to Maxwell on Wednesday for OTS, so none of this mattered. It was a done deal.

All he had left to do was show his Dad that he _could_ do it.

Or die trying.

OoO

"_Colonel, we've got one of the engineers here. We'll have a way to get you and Rodney free before you know it. If you can hear this, we've almost got you…"_

Sheppard jerked his head and winced.

_Damn._

What time was it?

He was lifting his wrist to look before he remembered it was broken. He'd tried it before, wanting to use the light to get a look around, but no matter how hard he pushed the button, it stayed pitch black around him. He couldn't place how long ago he'd last tried, so just for the hell of it, he tried again.

Nothing.

_God_.

His mouth felt as dry as a desert – the Mojave…funny, that he should remember those days at Edwards, the months spent learning to be a test pilot. It was dry, there, too. Hot. Hotter than any place he'd ever been before.

It'd been years of logging flight hours just to apply. Just so he could say, "If it's got wings, I can fly it."

McKay!

Sheppard turned and felt around until his hand connected with McKay's torso. "Rodney?" he hissed. "You awake?"

No response.

Fear rushed his fingers, searching for a wrist to find a pulse. It took a few fumbles but he finally got it, and was reassured by the strong beat. He slumped back against the cave wall.

What was wrong with McKay… wait a minute…hadn't he talked with McKay earlier, and he'd told Sheppard something…something about his ankle?

Trying to concentrate just made Sheppard's head hurt more.

What a way to spend a birthday. Concussed, trapped, McKay stuck here with him…_and not even good company_, he thought, smiling crookedly.

His chest burned in a new way that it hadn't before, and Sheppard found himself coughing painfully.

A really bad thought trampled across his mind.

Oxygen – they needed air.

One of the causes of death in situations like this was suffocation. Was there a vent anywhere, or was their supply already getting low? How long had it been? A part of him figured he should get up, try to walk around and get a feel for how big of a room they were trapped in…but his body just wasn't responding. His muscles felt rubbery, his bones, liquidy. Was that a word? Liquidy?

He chuckled to himself and decided it'd join the others on the list of 'maybe not words, but okay in John Sheppard's dictionary'. Right up there with Ancienty.

"McKay, got to wake up, join the party." Sheppard nudged Rodney's leg. "No sleeping on the job."

Not even a groan.

Crap.

Sheppard blew out a worried breath and thought about trying to keep it shallow, or less, or whatever, but then realized it'd only make it worse. He'd probably hyperventilate and pass out, and then who would be awake to hear the approaching rescue?

"Well," he started conversationally, "you can't hear me, but I was kinda thinking we'd watch something special tonight –"

He'd put a lot of thought into it.

He was forty and that was important.

Some people's lives had defining moments; well, he had a defining film. _The Right Stuff_ – Chuck Yeager, John Glenn and Alan Shepard…man, that was the shit. Doing that pioneering dare-devil, fly by the seat of the pants miracles… some kids had heroes that sunk baskets, or hit record-setting home-runs …but John's heroes lived a lot higher than that.

They lived and died bigger than the rest of the world.

OoO

"Pull up, Sheppard! What the hell are you doing!"

John was fighting to pull up, but the controls weren't responding. He finally resorted to slamming a hand against the panel and swearing. The altimeter continued to drop, and the droning of warnings from his flight coach buzzed in his ears.

The engine wasn't responding, and he was dropping in a gut-wrenching death spiral.

Ground rushed at the cockpit in alarming speed, and when the impact came, John swore even harder and released the yoke, wondering what was the record for the fastest washout from test pilot school. He was pretty sure he'd just broken it.

The door to the simulator cracked, letting in the light from the room outside.

Major McPherson leaned in and grinned mockingly. "Congratulations Captain, you just cost the Air Force five million dollars – ready to go again?"

"Sir? I…I don't know what went wrong." John stared at the dead controls. "She just stalled, wouldn't respond. I tried everything they taught us in the manual --"

McPherson leaned on the frame and kind of tilted his head in a 'that so' kind of way. "Son – most of these planes don't _have_ manuals."

"No, Sir," John responded smartly.

Shit.

Hadn't Dex ragged on him about not paying attention when the upperclassmen had been sitting in the bar, drinking beers at Pancho's, and talking about the tricks of the trade? Of course he had, but John had been too busy making googly-eyes at one of the flight bimbos that hung around the bar, looking to bag themselves a true test pilot…or one near enough for their tastes.

McPherson nodded, and pulled his head out. "Walk with me, Captain."

John unbuckled his safety harness, and crawled out of the simulator, squinting while his eyes adjusted to the light. His classmates made faces and faked clapping at him when McPherson's back was turned, and John flipped them off, before following the major.

"Did you know that more than fifty percent of your class will washout?"

"Yes, Sir!" John had read the statistics. And even if he hadn't, his dad had made a point of highlighting them on a rare letter from home. Mom had done the actual letter – his dad's part had been more of an addendum, and nothing else.

McPherson paused and faced John.

He was staring at John like he could see through him. Like he was summing up John's abilities and future. "If you want to be one of those that makes it, you're going to have to do better than what you did in there. Manuals and books, they only got you here – staying, that comes from here." The major tapped John's heart, and then his head.

He turned and began to walk back to the simulator, where the other young officers waited for their first try on the sim, adding with a waving hand, "Don't disappoint me, Sheppard – I've never been wrong before."

OoO

Sheppard figured they were screwed.

Definitely running out of air.

McKay was still out, something that made the pit of his stomach hurt worse than the bump on his head. If anyone had given them an update on the rescue efforts, they'd done it when Sheppard had been out. Or maybe he just couldn't remember.

He tasted bile and felt light-headed.

It was bad enough that he had to die on his birthday, but why'd he have to take Rodney with him?

If he'd been just a minute faster, he could've shoved McKay at Ronon, and then the big guy could've hauled him to safety. Sheppard would've still been trapped, but it would've been easier to go knowing his team was safe.

OoO

"You cheatin' son of a bitch!" Mitch pulled John from his chair, and raked his knuckles through John's hair, causing him to fall back and beer to splash out of the bottle and over John's hand. "How'd you do it? No way did you get that extra ace honestly, buddy!"

John pulled free and shoved Mitch. "Just because some people pay attention --"

"He's counting again, Mitch." Dex tossed his cards on the table, revealing only a single pair, jack high. He stared at John. "You know I hate it when you do that. Makes it hard for us non-Harvard types to win."

"And I'm supposed to care why?" He took another swig of the imported stuff that their Canadian friends had lost to them in another poker game, before picking up his tipped-over chair, and setting it upright.

Just then, the tent flap was pushed aside and Sergeant Knowles spoiled all their fun. "Got a call for med-evac; which one of you wants it?" He looked around and stared at John's bottle. "Let me rephrase that, which of you is on duty and capable of going?"

Dex raised his hand, and Knowles kept staring until Mitch rolled his eyes and lifted his. "Guess you can rob someone else for a while, Shep," Dex said, slapping him on the shoulder as he got up.

"I'm not going anywhere – we'll pick up where we left off, buddy." He set the bottle down. With Mitch and Dex heading out, John had to lay off the alcohol because he was stand-by. No one got to get drunk here. Well, except the supply clerks, and that was only when the right people wanted something from them. "I've got a girlfriend back home with expensive tastes and no one else around this joint makes as much as we do."

"Yeah, right…"

Dex waved dismissively and headed out, but Mitch paused and gave John a steady look.

"Hey – you take it easy, okay?"

When John nodded uneasily, Mitch left.

He was still there, sitting at the table and thinking about the Dear John letter he'd gotten yesterday when his CO came in, gray-faced and solemn.

John jumped to his feet and snapped to attention. "Sir!"

"At ease, Captain." Colonel Roberts scanned the messy tent, clothes on the cots and table full of cards and poker chips. "Sheppard…John, why don't you sit down."

A ball of ice formed somewhere deep inside.

"What is it, Colonel?"

His mom or dad? Car accident, heart attack…he was running through all the possibilities when the colonel cleared his throat.

"There's no easy way to say it, so I'll get to it. Captain Kevin Mitchell and Major David Exeter were shot down outside of Kabul about twenty minutes ago. I hate to ask this of you, but you're the only pilot left that can get there…"

John knew what he meant. Get there before Taliban. Get there and verify no survivors, and blow the wreckage to unsalvageable scrap metal.

He stood, slammed the emotions threatening to drop him, to a place deep inside where it just wouldn't matter. "Yes, Sir. I'll leave immediately."

"John…I have more news."

He paused at the flaps. "Sir?" without looking back.

"Congratulations, you're the Air Force's newest Major."

_OoO_

Every breath hurt – not enough air.

Sheppard was pretty sure he was lying prone now…pretty sure it was McKay's leg that his head was on, and he had no idea how that'd happened. But he couldn't get the guts to move.

There was something comforting about human touch when you were dying.

"Sorry I dragged you down, McKay," he rasped.

Rodney's leg didn't even twitch. Shit… he knew Rodney wouldn't have lagged behind if Sheppard hadn't been the last one, bringing up their six because that's how he liked to do it when it came to safety. His team first. He hadn't taken the time to consider the flip side: what they'd give for him.

"_Colonel – if you can hear me, we are almost through." _Teyla's voice was coming through layers. It paused and became worried. _"Rodney…John…"_

How long had it been?

He rolled his head, felt Rodney's thigh underneath, cushioning him. "It's my birthday, McKay. I didn't tell you guys…I mean, I was going to, but I kind of figured you already knew. I heard rumblings of a surprise party…" Sheppard coughed and tried to breathe in, but couldn't get enough.

There just wasn't anything left.

OoO

John stood in front of the fresh dirt mound, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dress coat. Everything he had wanted to say – it choked him. The rain was coming down in sheets, and he just didn't care.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he whispered. John was kind of glad it was lost in the pounding of the deluge.

He never had reconciled with Dad; never got around to repairing the one thing that hurt his mom the most. And now it was too late. Now there wasn't a hell of a lot of reasons to bother.

They'd already gone another round that morning, before the funeral. He'd shouted at Dad for not telling him about Mom's diagnosis…for not giving him the fucking option of being there for her at the end.

His dad had flung back, "You were busy being court-martialed. Do you think she needed that stress?"

John had grabbed his coat and left; he'd caught a cab to the funeral home, and hitched a ride with a family friend to the graveside service.

Now what?

"I just…I wanted you to know, I'm going to Antarctica. I know if you were here, you'd probably be horrified that they're sending me there, but I'm kind of looking forward to it. I get to fly helicopters there, and I'm sort of partial to them now." She couldn't hear him, but he still felt like he should say it. Let her know where he was going to be. She'd always wanted to know.

When he'd explained he was being sent to Bagram, she'd made him proud. She'd nodded, hugged him, and kissed him lightly on the forehead before pulling away and saying fiercely, "You'll come back, John. There's something about you that just won't let it happen any other way."

John had come back.

To face a court martial when he refused to accept the Article 15. He'd come home and faced it alone because his mom had been in Wilford Hall, dying, and his dad was a cold-hearted prick that couldn't look past a difference of opinion. Or admit he'd been wrong.

Not that getting an unofficial reprimand and sent off to Antarctica had helped. His dad had pulled ties, gotten the truth of what'd happened.

He'd shaken his head and lectured John, "I told you – the military isn't a place for bleeding hearts. Sometimes you have to let people die, John. That's part of being a soldier. A commanding officer. You've never had what it takes…"

"John?"

He turned and found Rosemary waiting. She had been his mom's best friend since they'd been little girls. He smiled warmly, and took her hand, helping her step forward, closer to the grave.

"She was proud of you, you know." She laid her flower on the mound with the rest, accepting John's help up when she was finished.

"I know," he said thickly.

"Your dad's proud of you, too." She didn't look at him; she knew him almost as well as his mom had – he didn't like eye contact when things got personal. "I know you don't believe me, but it's true." She fussed with her gloves, and the umbrella. "This weather – it's terrible. Don't know where all this rain is coming from. You wouldn't want to escort an old lady to her car, would you?"

John smiled sadly. "I would." He took her free arm and steered her away from the dirt turning to mud. "I have to get going anyway – my hop's leaving in a couple hours."

"Oh, off somewhere else adventurous, are you?"

He laughed. "Nowhere much."

OoO

There were muted sounds playing in the back of his mind, slowly sharpening…coming into focus, and stirring his body into wakefulness.

Sheppard blinked and only saw a curtain of black…he tried again, and got a little crack of light. Third time's the charm, and through slits, he saw lights, and curtains. The infirmary…

"John?"

He turned towards the voice. Blinked a couple times more until he had his eyes halfway open. Teyla was leaning over him, looking tired and worried, and _beautiful_. He lifted his hand, not making it very far, but he didn't have to, because she captured it and held on.

"Hey…" he said hoarsely.

"We thought…" her voice shook, and he realized her hand was trembling – just a little.

"Rodney?"

"He's going to be fine, John. Both of you are."

Teyla's grip was strong; her hand wrapped around his fingers and pressed against the O2 sensor. He didn't remember how he got here; the last thing he could bring to mind was the feeling of suffocating.

"What happ'nd?" God, he was tired. He had to blink a few times more to keep seeing anything. Warmth and lethargy turned his body to a puddle of uncooperative gel.

Her gaze sharpened. "You don't remember?"

"'Member something…" Sheppard slurred, and gave up. It was too much work to make his mouth form words.

"When we were searching for an energy source inside a system of caves, a ceiling collapsed, trapping you and Rodney."

He nodded, just a little…because nodding was hard work, too. "'Didn't die?" Sheppard just wanted to be clear on that before he passed out again. Because if this was just a hallucination, it was going to _really_ suck waking up.

She looked melancholic. "No, John…you didn't die."

"Good," he said, and licked his lips. They felt dry and cracked. "That's…good."

"I need to let Carson know you've woken." She pulled her hand from his and paused, frowning. "Will you be okay?"

Sheppard closed his eyes. "Yeah…"

He hadn't died on his birthday, after all. That was pretty okay in his book.

OoO

"What are you doing here?" Dad was as gruff and angry as ever; he held to the door and didn't step to the side to let John in.

He looked like hell; unshaven and he needed a hair cut. The last year without mom hadn't been good to George Sheppard, and John felt a flash of guilt. This wasn't what mom would've wanted. This wasn't how John wanted it to end.

"I've come to say goodbye."

Dad scowled. "We've already said them, John. We said them when you accepted your commission."

"Dad…" John sighed, frustrated and a little angry. "You don't understand – I'm…I'm shipping out tomorrow, on a special mission, and…I don't know when I'll make it home. I…"

"Fine. You've said it." Dad pulled back and started to shut the door.

John thrust a foot to stop it.

"Don't…don't do this…" One more time, for mom. And because this might be his last chance to make it right. To make his dad understand that John was only doing what he'd had to do.

"Go, John. Go do what you have to." For a minute John felt a surge of hope, and he looked at his dad, trying to find the truth in his dad's face. "It's too late to fix this."

John pulled his foot back and shook his head, defeated.

He'd tried.

He turned and headed back down the steps, away from the front door.

When his dad called, "Goodbye, John…" he almost turned, but then he heard the soft _snick_ of the door shutting behind him.

John straightened his shoulders and stood tall, walking the rest of the way to the rental car.

He was hours from leaving everything he'd always known and loved, even flying, because there wasn't anything with wings on the requisition forms for Atlantis (he'd checked).

Then again, most of things he'd loved weren't exactly around anymore.

His dad would never know the truth of what his son had turned out to be – but it made it just that little bit easier to take that possible one-way trip. It wasn't like he was leaving anything behind.

He was going to be something special. Something that made leaving his wings behind worth it.

A space explorer.

And if that wasn't a kick in the pants, John didn't know what was.

OoO

Sheppard stared over the chessboard. "You know…if you take any longer, I might pass out again."

They were wearing infirmary scrubs; Carson wanted them to stay overnight. Observation, he said. They hadn't been too beaten up, all things considered. Once they'd recovered from the hypoxia, they'd felt good enough to get up and move around a little. Rodney was only slightly loopy from the pain medication to help with his sprained and bruised and _not broken_ ankle. Both of them had headaches that made playing chess a stupid idea – but it was Sheppard's _birthday, _even if there was only an hour left.

He wasn't going to get to have his movie night, or do any of the celebrating he'd heard whispers of in regards to a certain _surprise_ party. One with real beer brought in on the Daedalus.

No beer.

No Right Stuff.

The least he could get was the fun of beating Rodney at chess.

"Carson said any passing out at this point is purely psychological." Rodney peered at him.

Sheppard smirked. "You're just saying that to be nice."

Rodney uttered an exasperated sound. "I can't believe it!"

"What – that you can be nice?"

"You've got me trapped, again." Rodney moved his bishop and stared at it like it'd turned traitor and jumped ship, joining the enemy's side.

Yeah – that too. "Checkmate," Sheppard said, with satisfaction. When Rodney glanced at the door, again, Sheppard frowned. "Why'd you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Looking at the door."

Rodney was a bad liar. "I don't." He started moving his chess pieces and staring at the board.

Sheppard snatched Rodney's queen. "You do too."

"Give me my queen, Sheppard, or your king gets it."

They sat across from each other; Sheppard held Rodney's queen in the air, returning Rodney's steady glare, while Rodney held Sheppard's king out of reach.

Sheppard considered bargaining…because he could always snatch another hostage before Rodney could, what with Rodney's lame ankle and all, when there were whispers, giggles and loud 'Shhhhh!' filtering from somewhere.

He dropped the arm holding the queen and stared at Rodney, puzzled. "You didn't…"

Rodney looked as innocent as he could…which wasn't very. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, taking a page out of the Sheppard book of denial.

Then the doors burst open; Ronon was pushing a medical trolley bearing a black cake, neon sticks forming '40' on top, and a hill and was that…a _wraith_? The words 'Over the Hill – but thank God not under it' were formed in icing. The cake had to be four times the size of a normal one.

Teyla, Elizabeth, Radek, Carson, Cadman, Lorne…crap, John gave up tracking; he _did_ have a concussion, and all.

There were ridiculous grins, and Rodney wore the biggest one of them all. He stood awkwardly, made a big 'ow' face before he got near enough to pat an affectionate hand against Sheppard's shoulder. "Happy Birthday, Colonel. You didn't seriously think I was going to let you off that easy, did you? Almost dying doesn't get you out of the traditional surprise party, so suck it up, and smile."

"Everyone ready!" called Elizabeth – and then they started in to the most off-key birthday song Sheppard had ever heard, and he was pretty sure Ronon said 'Happy deathday' instead of birthday…and then he got some 'John', some 'Colonel' and a couple Sheppard's at the dear part…still, it was the best damn birthday song he figured he'd ever heard.

When it ended, Carson whistled for attention. "Just so you know, the colonel and Rodney are still recovering – two hours, people and no more…and if I see a peep of a beer bottle, the offender _will_ want to avoid my infirmary in the near future!"

Cadman shoved Lorne and the major got red-faced.

So, Sheppard knew who to hit up before the two hours ended – if Lorne was still willing to risk it, and maybe even if he wasn't – Sheppard _was_ a Colonel.

There was a lot of noise after Carson gave up the floor; Radek served the cake, and someone handed out glasses of a non-alcoholic cider.

Sheppard's head still ached pretty good and his stomach really wasn't in a place to appreciate cake, but, looking around at his friends – eating, talking, laughing – it was the best damn birthday he'd ever had.

"So, Sheppard – what d'you think our odds are for surviving another year?" Rodney asked.

His dad had once told him he didn't have what it takes. Because he cared too much, and wasn't willing to sacrifice soldiers. Because he'd disobeyed orders to save lives. But Sheppard was standing in a room full of people that shared his beliefs – that if there was a chance, it should be taken.

It's why half the people in the room were even still alive.

_You were wrong, Dad. _

He looked around at everyone and nodded. "I'd say they're pretty damn good, McKay."

Someone raised a toast; "To another year older!"

That was a toast he could agree to.

**The End**


End file.
